To Bewitch a Devil

236 Those are not blade marks

And so the creature ran to her at the same supernatural speed, claws reaching for her eyes. She reared her head back and plunged her claws straight at its chest. The creature screeched and backed away.

Freya used a finger to call it forward, taunting it. It gave an ear shattering snarl, and Freya was not prepared for the speed at which it came for her, its claws making contact with her and tearing down her chest.

She screamed at the sharp pain, the searing burn ripping through her. She willed herself not to collapse to her knees, and just as the creature mastered her vulnerable moment, it struck again, but Freya was faster, reaching for another knife and slashing it across the face.

The creature backed away with a screech, and it held one of its clawed hands to its face.

“Let’s get this over and done with,” Freya said.

The creature backed away, disappearing into the thicket of bush behind it. Freya hurried after it but hissed as the pain spread through her entire body. She looked down at herself, and her outfit was wet and sticky with her blood and mud.

She dragged herself out of the marsh, and each step she took was more painful than the last. She held a hand to a large gash just below where her heart was. The ugly creature had meant to kill her.

She hurried as the blood poured out, putting as much pressure as she could on the major wound. Her vision blurred, the road before her swooned, and so did her steps. She staggered forward, and held to the trees to trace her way out.

She just needed one person to see her else she was bleeding to her death.

.....

She reached a clearing, but there was no one in sight. By now, her hand was red, and everything around her was turning to white. She was giving way, and she felt her power weaken in her.

There was nothing worse than surviving that situation and losing her strength or power.

“Is someone here?!” she yelled out, her voice weak. “I need help!”

Her knees gave way, and her body hit the ground. She tried to keep her eyes open, but everything got whiter and whiter, and her limbs grew limp.

“Zavian,” she called, and the whiteness gave way to darkness.

....

Zavian could barely keep himself together.

On one hand, there was Neera, who hadn’t died like she had predicted. Apparently, it turned out that she had gone unconscious from the lack of sleep, but she was destructive in her waking hours, fighting demons that were blind to his eyes. She was angry, sour, upset, a whirlpool of mixed emotions, and shut him out of her world.

But it was his sister that was the cause of his distraught. The night before, Freya had been brought to the castle by some humans, hunters that had found her laying in her own blood in the middle of the forest. He had called the doctor immediately, and Freya’s wound had been treated, but she was yet to be awake.

Azriel came into the castle, and spotted Zavian speaking to the purple-haired doctor in the foyer.

“Zavian, you sent word about Freya. What happened? How is she?” Azriel asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell,” the doctor said gravely. “And I have never seen such wound marks before. Whatever attacked her...,” The doctor sighed, a shaky exhale of breath. “...your Majesty, we have to be very cautious.”

“Thank you,” Zavain said. “I’ll see you this noon.”

The doctor bade them, and left. Azriel stepped up to his friend, concern pooling in his eyes.

“Zavian, let me see her.” Azriel requested.

“It’s all over her,” Zavian rubbed his face. “Terrible cuts....”

“Let me see,” Azriel insisted.

Zavian led the way to Freya’s private quarters. Guards stood everywhere, should in case the attacker decides to come finish off what he started.

They entered Freya’s private chambers. On the large bed, Freya looked so frail laying in the centre. Zavian stepped up to her and drew back her covers, revealing a body mostly covered in bandages.

“Mercy,” Azriel whispered. “What did this to her?”

“I was hoping you could tell.”

“I can’t. Nothing and no one comes to mind. Zavian, this is very serious,” Azriel said. “Freya is one of the best warriors, for her to be attacked this way means there is another thing we have to be worried about.”

“I have a feeling she was being targeted specifically,” Zavian said. “And I won’t rest until I find out who is behind it.”

“She has sharp reflexes, Zavian. She would have heard the attacker before he even pounced.” Azriel said.

Zavian looked at him. “What are you saying?”

Azriel looked at Freya’s recumbent form. He approached her and traced his hands along the smaller scars on her arms.

“These aren’t blade marks,” Azriel said.

“I know.”

“And no demon could be fast enough or powerful enough to fight Freya.” Azriel continued.

“What are you driving at?”

“I don’t know yet. I believe it is only Freya capable of telling us what she saw.”

“I don’t know yet. I believe it is only Freya capable of telling us what she saw.” Azriel said.

Zavian stared at his sister, studied the sharp marks that the doctor had fixed with some healing ointment. Her entire torso was wrapped in white bandages like she wore a shirt, and her breathing was shallow, as if she was struggling to do so. The doctor had stated as he wrapped her in bandages that she was lucky to still be alive, and with the amount of blood she had lost, it was a miracle she still breathed.

“I know you two were involved,” Zavian revealed to Azriel.

“Involved? What are you talking about?”

“You were sleeping with my sister, weren’t you?”

“Sleeping...Goodness, no! Freya is off limits, and I know that,” Azriel was quick to say. “And did she tell you that?”